Part 56 "The Parting Glass"

PART FIFTY-SIX: THE PARTING GLASS

Transcripts made and edited by jack, Oro

CWs: discussions of animal harm/animal death, gun violence/gunshots, extended sounds of blood/gore/violence, murder, knife violence, drinking noises, alcohol, family (spouse/child) abuse, medical procedures, death

(BEGIN Part 56.)

 

(Footsteps. Blowing wind. Rustic string music begins.)

 

COLLINS: Were you old enough to do the hunt? With Da? Did you have a parting glass? You know what a parting glass is, yeah? See… when I was… only a little older than you, I s’pose, Da took me to the hunt. The fox hunt. You at least know what foxes are? Good. At least that much is straight. They have these cups. Stirrup cups, they call them. Toast before you go. Feet in the stirrups, parting glass. They look like animals, all of ‘em. And I remember me Da handing me a little lamb, just… just a wee thing. 

 

The men all sniggered and chortled. Me, with me little lamb in me hands. We toasted before we went. Before a hunt began. 

 

(Everything quiets. After a moment, the wind starts again. A slow melody begins.)

 

JOHN: Treeline. Up ahead. Movement. 

 

ARTHUR: Right. 

 

JOHN: Maybe… maybe not. 

 

ARTHUR (sighing): We’re sure this is where the Doll–

 

JOHN: It’s as good a place as any to call a hunting ground. We discussed our approach –

 

ARTHUR: No, I know. I just… I don’t want to waste time if this is another wild goose chase.

 

JOHN (perplexed): Wild goose chase?

 

ARTHUR: I-It means a-another wrong guess. I-If this isn’t the Hunt, like the last two, then…

 

JOHN: I know. But we need to play this smart. All of this. If we simply walk into the Butcher’s eyeline –

 

ARTHUR: We’re dead. I-I-I know.

 

JOHN: Exactly. For now, just like the last two possibilities, we wait. We watch. We approach. And if it isn’t where the Butcher is… we continue in the same direction the Dollmaker sent us.

 

ARTHUR: I wish we got more clarity. The Hunt, i-it’s so… vague.

 

JOHN: Well, if this is it… we’re looking at a copse of trees with long, rounded dirt paths between until it reaches… a forest. 

 

ARTHUR: A forest? In the Dark World?

 

JOHN: I say forest, but the trees are bare, black stone pillars with… knobby, broken stems of stone growing out of them in every direction. Enough to obscure a clear line of sight through the forest, but bare enough to offer little protection from the wind or rain… should it ever do so. 

 

ARTHUR: A forest, right. 

 

JOHN: The trees are so devoid of detail, variance and color that they get lost against the ground. The gray sky offers no… shadow. The flat forest almost looks like a picture. 

 

ARTHUR: And how far away is the ditch we’re in from the…

 

JOHN: Maybe a couple hundred yards. The movement I saw… was up a small hill to our left. Overlooking the forest. 

 

ARTHUR: A perfect blind. I’ll give you that. (A small pause.) Do you think this is a bad plan? 

 

JOHN: What, waiting?

 

ARTHUR: Not using the lighter.

 

JOHN: No. No, we discussed it. Remember?

 

ARTHUR: I know, I know. But –

 

JOHN: Trying to kill him outright with the scalpel is the only option. If we use the lighter and he happens to be the same Butcher you were friends with, then –

 

ARTHUR: I know. I know, it becomes… so much worse. 

 

JOHN: We use it as a last resort only. As we discussed.

 

ARTHUR: Okay.

 

JOHN:  I don’t think it was movement after all. I think we’re good to continue. 

 

ARTHUR: Alright. Well, I’m… (Singing, far-off in the distance.) Do you hear…? 

 

JOHN: Hear something? 

 

ARTHUR: I-I thought I did. Nevermind. (Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: This hill to our left, quite a distance off, i-it has a strange… engraving upon it. 

 

ARTHUR: The hill?

 

JOHN: I suppose it’s a stone… no. No, it catches the light a bit. As if… metal, of some kind. 

 

ARTHUR: A metal hill. 

 

JOHN: Carved into the face of it, it’s… a wolf. A large wolf’s head. 

 

ARTHUR: A wolf. (He sighs.) I think –

 

(A sudden gunshot.)

 

JOHN (shouting): Gunfire! God damn it, move! (Arthur runs, panting hard.) Straight ahead, to the treeline, move! (Another gunshot.) It’s coming from the hill. (Another gunshot.) God damn it, I should’ve –

 

ARTHUR: Where?

 

JOHN: Here, here, here! (A gunshot. Arthur’s noises of exertion.) A small ditch, move. (Shifting dirt. Desperately.) There, there! There. Stay down. (Calmer.) Stay down. 

 

ARTHUR: Oh, God.

 

JOHN: We’re in cover. 

 

ARTHUR: I guess you found the right spot.

 

JOHN: They can’t see us. (Stressed.) Oh, Jesus Christ. 

 

UNKNOWN VOICE (far off): Reynard? 

 

JOHN: What? 

 

ARTHUR: What? What is…

 

UNKNOWN MAN: Reynard?

 

ARTHUR: What is that?

 

JOHN: Movement, from along the ditch. 

 

ARTHUR: Who, who – 

 

JOHN: Turn, turn!

 

UNKNOWN MAN: Reynard? 

 

JOHN: A man approaches! Naked, and… covered in mud. His head is down as well, he… he… he’s waving. 

 

UNKNOWN MAN: Reynard?

 

ARTHUR: No! Go away!

 

JOHN (aghast): What is he doing? He’s nearly here.

 

ARTHUR: What are you doing? (Shifting dirt.) Get down!

 

UNKNOWN MAN: Reynard, it’s me.

 

ARTHUR: I’m not… why are you calling me that?

 

UNKNOWN MAN (French accent): Reynard, you made it.

 

JOHN: Made it?

 

ARTHUR: Made it here, what… what are you…?

 

UNKNOWN MAN: You’re clever.

 

ARTHUR: Am I? Looked to me like I was nearly shot.

 

UNKNOWN MAN: No. No. They did not aim to kill.

 

ARTHUR: What are you talking about? Of course he did. 

 

UNKNOWN MAN (insistent): No.

 

ARTHUR: He…

 

UNKNOWN MAN: No, they aimed to herd you into the woods, into where they hunt. 

 

JOHN: What?

 

ARTHUR: You mean…

 

UNKNOWN MAN: They do not hunt with a gun. They sit up there waiting, watching. Moving us into the wood, until they decide to come down and kill. Like fish in a barrel.

 

ARTHUR: H-H-H-Hold on. Who’s ‘they’?

 

UNKNOWN MAN: The Butcher… and the boy. 

 

JOHN: The boy?

 

ARTHUR: Who’s the boy?

 

UNKNOWN MAN: I do not know. 

 

ARTHUR (sighing): Who are you?

 

GRIMBARD: Grimbard. (A light impact.) And you are Reynard.

 

ARTHUR: I am not –

 

GRIMBARD: I have been here for two days. 

 

JOHN: Two days? Jesus. 

 

GRIMBARD: You must wait. Wait. That is what will keep you alive. Wait and wait.

 

JOHN: Until when?

 

ARTHUR: For what?

 

GRIMBARD: To live, Reynard! 

 

ARTHUR: Stop calling is that! My name is Arthur. Arthur!

 

GRIMBARD: I have dug a hole nearby. We can wait there. But be careful. He has made many traps. (Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: He’s… He’s leading us.

 

GRIMBARD: Stay down. Stay low, Reynard. Come, come!

 

JOHN: He moves… slowly. Methodically. Snapping his head in the direction of the hill every so often, I-I can see… now, that the hill has… two faces… large statues of metal fused into the black dirt of the mound… a wolf’s head and… a lamb. They face this forest, an ever-watching eye.

 

GRIMBARD (whispering): Here, here.

 

JOHN: He moves deeper.

 

GRIMBARD: Come, come. Here.

 

JOHN: He… He rolls over the mound and leads us further into the forest.

 

GRIMBARD: This way.

 

JOHN: Here, here, here! Roll. (Shifting noises.) Stay low. (Arthur grunts.) Stay low!  Alright, h-he’s standing, now… sprinting, but in a huddled way. Keep your head down.

 

GRIMBARD: Come!

 

JOHN: He’s moving quicker, try to keep up.

 

ARTHUR: I’m trying! 

 

JOHN: H… He stops.

 

GRIMBARD: This… a trap. An old one, but.

 

JOHN: He points to the ground. A small circle of… rope lay on the ground. 

 

ARTHUR: How did he get – ?

 

GRIMBARD:  I do not know. Be careful! There are more ahead. 

 

JOHN: He moves. (Shifting noises. Footsteps.)

 

ARTHUR: Grimbard? Grimbard, wait!

 

JOHN: H-He’s stopping.

 

GRIMBARD: What? What?

 

ARTHUR: Have you tried to stop them? To kill them. There must be a –

 

GRIMBARD: If you want to live, you must wait. And hide. They only come down to kill and set traps. This is when people have tried, but I watched many die this way.

 

JOHN: Many?

 

ARTHUR: What do you mean, when they come down to kill?

 

GRIMBARD: We must move. Come.

 

JOHN: They come down to set traps and… kill. Any other time, that hill is unapproachable, I…

 

GRIMBARD: The boy watches the Butcher’s back, I have seen only one time the Butcher come down alone. But now, we must –

 

ARTHUR: Right, right. (Shifting noises.)

 

JOHN: He heads through a shubbery, scampering like an animal.

 

GRIMBARD: Reynard, come.

 

JOHN: He reminds me of the… the skin the rats wore. (A delicate melody begins.) Outside the Black Tower. (He sighs.) Arthur, this man is strange. But I think he’s right. Waiting, it seems like the right call.

 

ARTHUR: Agreed.

 

JOHN: Perhaps we can find a trap to camp near and… and wait. They seem… (Sudden.) Wait! 

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: On the ground, here.

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: Casings, bullet casings. I don’t know how long ago they were fired. Strange to see them in this dark world. 

 

ARTHUR: I bet.

 

JOHN (urgently): Wait, Arthur! An axe.

 

ARTHUR: An axe?

 

JOHN: I doubt it’s sharper than a scalpel, but it will give us reach… and weight!

 

ARTHUR: Agreed.

 

JOHN: Against the tree, to the right! Here, here.

 

ARTHUR: The scalpel can finish him off, but the axe will – (A hollow thunk, and the creaking of wood.)

 

JOHN: What? What?

 

ARTHUR: What? (Rapid footsteps.)

 

GRIMBARD (approaching): No! No!

 

ARTHUR: Fuck!

 

(A solid impact. John groans in pain.)

 

JOHN: What are you doing? 

 

GRIMBARD: No! (Grimbard makes noises of distress.)

 

JOHN: Arthur! We’ve sprung a trap. 

 

ARTHUR: What happened?

 

JOHN: Grimbard? He – He pushed us out of the way of the net!

 

ARTHUR: Grimbard, no!

 

JOHN: It sprung up from the ground.

 

GRIMBARD: Reynard! You must run! 

 

ARTHUR: Let me cut you down.

 

GRIMBARD: There’s no time. There’s no time.

 

ARTHUR: No, I can!

 

GRIMBARD: They move quickly! My hole is that way.

 

JOHN: He points.

 

GRIMBARD: You must hide and wait.

 

ARTHUR: I, I can’t just –

 

GRIMBARD: You must.

 

JOHN: Arthur.

 

GRIMBARD: You must hide and wait. Do not take the chance. You must survive, Reynard!

 

JOHN: Arthur, movement from the edge of the forest. 

GRIMBARD (shouting): Leave!

 

JOHN: He could be right.

 

ARTHUR: I’m sorry!

 

GRIMBARD: Go!

 

JOHN: Move, Arthur!

 

ARTHUR: I’m so sorry! (Arthur’s noises of exertion. Footsteps.)

 

GRIMBARD: You cannot be here! He cannot spot you! You can’t…

 

JOHN: Keep going, keep going. Keep –

 

ARTHUR: Wait. Wait! Hide.

 

JOHN (shocked): Hide!?

 

ARTHUR: We need to watch. To see if any – (Shifting. Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: Fine. Here, here. To the right. There’s a large black trunk of a… here, here, here! Stay down. (Whispering.) Don’t… move. A little higher, so I can s… there, there. I can see Grimbard, the n — I can see Grimbard in the net. Nothing moves yet. I don’t see anything.

 

ARTHUR (frustrated): There was time. God damn it, Grimbard. There was time.

 

JOHN (shushing him): Wait, wait, wait, wait. I see… two figures. Approaching. (Slow exhale.) It’s the Butcher, alright… though he looks… older. Grayer, more… weathered. He carries a rifle, slack over his shoulder, and… behind him… a boy. 

 

The boy is young, under ten for sure, and-and… looks… similar. I think. (Distant footsteps.)

 

COLLINS (at a distance): Well, hello there.

 

JOHN: I think this is a younger version of the Butcher. A child. (Mumbled conversation between Collins and the boy.) The older one gestures, speaks to him. Though I can’t hear the words, he seems almost… fatherly. 

 

ARTHUR: Not a son. 

 

JOHN: No. I see it now clearly. This is the Butcher from two different timelines… at two different ages. (A slow version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ begins.) They’re cutting Grimbard down. (An impact. Grimbard grunts.) H-He falls! The elder struggles with the ropes, and then… holds Grimbard down. (Grimbard struggles.) Handing a blade to the younger, w-who… takes it. Apprehensively. With a calm assurance, the elder gestures to Grimbard and… the younger… (Sounds of impact and blood. Grimbard screams in agony.) Stabs him. (Arthur exhales.) Again… and again.

 

ARTHUR (shaken): O-Okay.

 

JOHN: H-He’s… He’s dead. He died saving us.

 

ARTHUR (whispering): It was stupid f – 

 

JOHN: It was stupid, but it happened. I wasn’t thinking, I was being… I should’ve been smarter. We need to be, I-I… I didn’t consider how clever the Butcher would be, I-I… I won’t make that mistake again. Neither of us will. (Noises of gore.)

 

They’re doing something else. The elder is… he’s taking the blood of Grimbard, i-in his hand, and… (Muffled, distant conversation.) Rubbing it on the face of the younger. Marking his forehead and mouth… in a bloody handprint.

 

ARTHUR: Blooded?

 

JOHN: The young Butcher… smiles. They’ll… turn to leave, soon. With their backs to the hill, we could… potentially follow them. It may be a chance to get to their overlook, o-or… or we could do what Grimbard said, and… and hide, and wait. But we may miss this chance. 

 

ARTHUR (sighing): No. (Dirt shifting.) We wait. 

 

JOHN: You’re sure? Arthur, we may not –

 

ARTHUR: We may not, but we wait. 

 

JOHN: Alright. Let’s… Let’s find that hole. 

 

(Footsteps. Everything quiets. Eventually, the wind returns. A fire burns.)

 

COLLINS: The hunt was… exhilarating. (A string tune begins. A scraping noise, like carving wood.) Lit a real fire in my belly. All the men on their horses, the fox bounding away. ‘Course, it was only for a while. Much of the time was… wait. And that’s where I learned the first rule. Really, the only rule: waitin’. That’s what the hunt is, really. Knowing when to take your shot. Knowing when. Wait until they’re tired enough to make a mistake. They give you a chance to make your move… all of us boxers know it, all the greatest hunters know it, too. Waitin’ is your greatest advantage. It’s the one who waits the longest… who wins.

 

(Everything quiets. Eventually, the sound of distant scrabbling dirt. Arthur flinches.)

 

JOHN: Not him. (Arthur sighs. A slow melody begins.)

 

ARTHUR: Part of me wishes the sun would set just so we’d know how long we’ve been waiting.

 

JOHN: Far too many hours. Perhaps even…

 

ARTHUR: Don’t say a day.

 

JOHN: Time doesn’t mean as much here. (Arthur sighs.)

 

ARTHUR: Well, I must say, you have the tougher job, here.

 

JOHN: Oh?

 

ARTHUR: I mean, I just get to lay here. Get comfortable. (He grunts.) As comfortable as one can be in the dirt. You’re the eyes. 

 

JOHN (long-suffering): I’m the eyes. 

 

ARTHUR: For a little while longer, at least.

 

JOHN: I suppose so. But you’ll get your… sight back. That must be exhilarating to consider. 

 

ARTHUR: Yeah, I guess so. I’ve gotten so used to being without that… well… I don’t miss it anymore.

 

JOHN: No?

 

ARTHUR: I don’t feel impeded by the loss of my sight, I-I… I don’t know. I don’t know. (Dirt shifting.) Those stars did look quite bright, though. 

 

JOHN: You… yes. Yes, you saw them!

 

ARTHUR: Briefly. There was something. Some way, I saw beyond myself. It felt strange. 

 

JOHN: Like when I project, maybe. 

 

ARTHUR: Maybe. 

 

JOHN: Either way, it’ll feel good to be whole again. I’m sure you’ll agree. Right?

 

ARTHUR: I’ve had this nagging thought in the back of my mind. 

 

JOHN: What of?

 

ARTHUR: That this isn’t going to go the way we want it to.

 

JOHN: How so?

 

ARTHUR: I don’t – (Distant wood cracking. Continued sounds of rummaging.)

 

JOHN: Movement.

 

ARTHUR: In the trees.

 

JOHN: It could be another… prey, like Grimbard.

 

ARTHUR: I know. Which direction?

 

JOHN: The trap we sprung. The one they left. They’re back to set it. 

 

ARTHUR: You’re sure? 

 

JOHN: Positive. 

 

ARTHUR: We have the upper hand.

 

JOHN: Now is our chance. Stay low. (Arthur grunts in exertion. Footsteps.) Slowly. I can only hear the movement, I haven’t seen them. Wait, wait, wait! (Footsteps stop.) Stop. I see… one. I see the elder. (A short pause.) I don’t see the boy. He must have left him up –

 

ARTHUR: You’re sure? 

 

(A longer pause.)

 

JOHN: I don’t see him, Arthur. I think he’s back at the blind, waiting. 

 

ARTHUR: Alright. (Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: You have the scalpel in your hand. Just approach behind him. He’s got his back to us. Hunched over. Fiddling with the rope. I don’t even see the gun. The boy must still have it. Careful. Slowly. Arthur, if you can get up behind him, just… draw that scalpel deeply across his neck and we’re done. There’s no way around it. Quietly! Ten feet, maybe. Seven. Four. Arthur, we – 

 

(A twig snaps. Sounds of shifting.)

 

COLLINS: Hats off to you. You got closer than anyone else.

 

JOHN: He raises his arm straight over his head and – (A gunshot. Arthur gasps. John roars.) Move, Arthur! (Arthur breathes heavily. Collins starts to laugh. Rapid footsteps.) Back, quickly! (Gunshot.) The gun! The boy from the blind, he’s… he’s firing into the woods, a-and… (Gunshot.) Here, here, here, here! By a tree. (A thud.) No, no, move, move. There. This side. Away from the… (Gunshot.) The gun. 

 

ARTHUR: The Butcher! Where?

 

JOHN: The Butcher is circling wide. The gun is covering his back. If we move from cover —

 

ARTHUR: The boy has the sh…

 

JOHN: We’re trapped. (Arthur groans.)

 

COLLINS: Four eyes are better than two, lad. You didn’t have much of a chance.

 

JOHN: Arthur, w-w-we’re stuck here. We need to  – (Arthur shushes him.)

 

ARTHUR: Let me think.

 

JOHN: I-I don’t –

 

ARTHUR: Let me think.

 

COLLINS: I saw that blade in your hand, boyo. (Distant footsteps.) You look just crazed enough to cut me deep. The boy’s got the rifle trained on you, the minute you move out from there. Might as well make it easy on yourself.

 

JOHN: We’re pinned down, Arthur.

 

ARTHUR: The boy won’t fire if we’re close to him.

 

JOHN: So? We can’t make it from the tree to the Butcher in time. The boy will –

 

ARTHUR: We need to draw him to us.

 

COLLINS: You hear me?

 

ARTHUR: I hear you! Yapping. (Daring.) Like a little dog. Isn’t that what you are? Hunting foxes. Sniffing them out for your… 

 

COLLINS: For who, lad? It’s just me. 

 

ARTHUR: And the boy?

 

COLLINS: And the boy. 

 

ARTHUR: Do you pretend to be his father? Or is it just a sick game you enjoy playing with yourself?

 

COLLINS: We have the same father, boyo.

 

ARTHUR: Of course. But we saw you doling out the wisdom. Blooding him like he was your own. Showing him the ways of the mad mind you have, Butcher. 

 

COLLINS: You talk like you know me.

 

ARTHUR: Oh, but I do! I know you very well. 

 

COLLINS: Is that so?

 

ARTHUR (quieter): I know you very well. (A piano version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ plays.) Daddy didn’t love you, Butcher. We both know that. You told me that yourself. 

 

COLLINS: Did I?

 

ARTHUR: Told me about the music you hear, as well. What’s playing today… Dennis?

 

JOHN: I can hear him. He’s approaching, it’s working! Keep going.

 

ARTHUR: You know, I thought I heard you on the wind. I suppose what you said to me the first time we met ended up being truest, didn’t it, Dennis?

 

JOHN: Arthur, ready yourself.

 

ARTHUR: You never did it for the pay.

 

JOHN: When he’s close enough, go… go low. He won’t expect it. Take him out at the knees.

 

ARTHUR: Memento mori.

 

JOHN: Once he’s down on the ground, you can…

 

ARTHUR: Eh, Mr. Collins?

 

JOHN: Any second now. 

 

ARTHUR (whispering): Are you ready to see my fire?

 

COLLINS: You think you can –

 

JOHN: Now! (Impact. Sounds of a struggle. Arthur breathes heavily.) Go, Arthur! Yes! Yes! You’ve tackled him. Wrestle him to his… oh! (Arthur reacts in pain.) Arthur! He’s stabbed you in the stomach, he’s… (Sounds of gore.)

 

ARTHUR: Fuck! Fuck!

 

JOHN: Fuck! Fuck, Arthur! Stop him! (Collins laughs.) Arthur… you’re losing blood!

 

COLLINS: I would’ve preferred a wire, but. (Continued sounds of a struggle.)

 

JOHN: No! The lighter! Use the lighter. (The lighter flicks.) Use it! He’s distracted. (Collins breathes heavily.) Push yourself off. Quickly! Behind the tree, quickly. (Arthur coughs. Sounds of blood.) The Butcher, he… he looks… confused, almost! The lighter… it’s, it’s stopped him! But… But Arthur, you’re… you’re bleeding. 

 

ARTHUR: Fuck.

 

JOHN: He’s stabbed you. Three… maybe four times in the abdomen.

 

ARTHUR: God damn it.

 

JOHN: Arthur… yes. (Sounds of tearing.)

 

ARTHUR: Ow.

 

JOHN: You need to stop the bleeding. He’s cut the suit anyway, you need to… (Ripping. Arthur makes noises of pain.) There, just… just hold it there, and… fuck. The Butcher, he’s looking around, as if… waking. Staring at his hands, and… and… us. 

 

COLLINS (surprised): I know you. 

 

ARTHUR: Do you?

 

JOHN: He’s holding his arm. You must have cut him, too. But only slightly.

 

COLLINS: Arthur. 

 

JOHN: He squints his eyes, as if… trying to remember. 

 

ARTHUR (breathing hard): Yeah? You remember me? 

 

COLLINS: How could I forget? (A string version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ begins.) What the hell happened to you?

 

ARTHUR: You! Clearly. (He chuckles.)

 

COLLINS: Shite.

 

JOHN: He… He signals to the boy. 

 

ARTHUR: What? (Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: Waves for him to… to come down. What is…?

 

COLLINS (closer): Let me help you. Let me…

 

JOHN: He… He’s helping us. Tending to our wounds, he-he’s…

 

ARTHUR (overlapping): What… What do you remember of me?

 

JOHN: He looks at us with… with kind eyes. 

 

ARTHUR: The Butcher I knew… he didn’t… 

 

(Closer footsteps.)

 

COLLINS: Here. Here. 

 

ARTHUR: He wasn’t as old as you.

 

JOHN: The boy approaches, with a… bag of sorts. One I saw him wearing earlier.

 

COLLINS: The bandages, quickly.

 

JOHN: The boy looks confused.

 

COLLINS (urgently): Now, lad! 

 

(Sounds of rummaging.)

 

JOHN: He’s retrieving… bandages. For our stomach! 

 

COLLINS: After you bested me in New York… you spoke to me. With the help of your friend. 

 

ARTHUR: The detective?

 

COLLINS: That’s the one. Do you remember what you said to me? 

 

(Sounds of stretching. Arthur makes noises of pain.)

 

ARTHUR: I told you… that we were more alike… than I was willing to admit. 

 

COLLINS: Aye. And do you remember what I said back to you?

 

ARTHUR: You just smiled.

 

COLLINS: I never told you why I agreed to join you, and that detective, in stopping that man…

 

ARTHUR: Larson.

 

COLLINS: Right. It wasn’t ‘cause I wanted to be good. Wasn’t ‘cause I… didn’t love killin’. I did it ‘cause you were right. (‘Peggy Gordon’ begins.) Was tired of not being me own man, of making me own decisions. And after we went into there, and the guns started goin’ off… you told that detective friend of yours to stay behind, I…

 

ARTHUR: To stay behind?

 

COLLINS: Yeah. You told him to stay back, hold off the fight while you and I chased down that bastard.

 

JOHN: But… we chose the Butcher to stay behind.

 

COLLINS: You and I ended him. Right quick, but we got separated. Never saw you again. What the hell happened to you? 

 

ARTHUR: Oh. Oh. Oh, i-it’s… it’s a long story. But… but you made it out. (He grunts.) Alive. 

 

COLLINS: I did. Noel didn’t, but. But I did. And I lived. (A string piece begins.) For the first time, I really lived. (He chuckles.) The stories I could tell you, boyo.

 

JOHN: He smiles. Coyly. 

 

COLLINS (pleased): God! Feel like I’m up for air. Here. (Collins and Arthur both grunt.) Together again.

 

JOHN: He hands the soiled rags to the boy, who… (Footsteps.) Walks up and away to toss them into the woods, I suppose.

 

COLLINS: Let’s show you our encampment. We have a fire, low, so as not to draw attention. (Sounds of rummaging.)

 

JOHN: Arthur. His back is to us. He’s kneeling. 

 

COLLINS: You can stay with us for a bit. I want to hear what the hell happened to you.

 

JOHN: Collecting the bandages pulled from the bag. The boy has left the rifle here…. even if he returned, you could grab it.

 

COLLINS: Seems like we have time here.

 

JOHN: And you still have the scalpel. You could slit the Butcher’s throat from behind.

 

COLLINS: It’s a living hell, this place.

 

JOHN: He’s still the Butcher, and he is still… Arthur, this is your chance. If you don’t have a body, you cannot leave this place. We will die! Everything will fail. You need… to kill him. 

 

COLLINS: Well, it’ll be good to have a friend again.

 

JOHN: We… need to kill him.

 

COLLINS: The boy’s a good lad. Shaping up to be just like me. (Sounds of shifting and rummaging.)

 

JOHN: It has to be done.

 

COLLINS: You called it. (Footsteps. Arthur sighs.) I’m trying to be like the father I never – (A scrape of metal. Extended sounds of blood and Collins’ gurgling death rattles. A thud.)

 

JOHN: Fuck. 

 

(The noises continue. Dirt shifting. Collins quiets. Distant footsteps.)

 

JOHN: The boy! He stares at the body before us. His eyes… wide. His expression… he’s in shock.

 

ARTHUR: I… it’s… (At a loss.)

 

JOHN: His eyes snap to ours. A look of confusion washes over his face, as if… trying to find an unknowable answer. Then… (Perplexed.) Fear. 

 

ARTHUR: I… this isn’t about you. You can leave. 

 

JOHN: A flicker of anger! But only a flicker. And then… relief. (A piano version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ begins.) Not… for sparing his life, but… I think… for taking the Butcher’s. (A thud. Wood rattling.) He… drops his things. The trinkets, the items the Butcher gave to him… made him wear. And with… almost a nod of… appreciation… (Footsteps.) He departs. I swear it seemed like he was almost… a prisoner. 

 

ARTHUR: I… I think he was. 

 

JOHN: The whole head, or… just the ears? 

 

ARTHUR (sighing): Better the whole head. 

 

JOHN: Agreed. 

 

(Arthur grunts in exertion. Noises of gore and metal scraping. ‘Peggy Gordon’ continues.)

 

COLLINS (amidst a crackling fire): We found that fox, eventually. Tired, run out of steam. That’s when the real test started. Da didn’t want to see me ride, or run, or drink that parting glass. He wanted to watch me kill. Maybe he’d seen a taste for it in me. Or maybe he wanted to put the taste in me. But he gave me a knife. I felt the steel of it in me hand. 

 

And as I drove that knife into the fox’s belly… I felt something in me awaken. Something that had always been there, but… just… needed a push. A desire to feel the warmth of that creature fade. It was like the parting glass we had. A feeling washed over me, like… being drunk. Could feel it, warm in me belly. Da had to stop me from going too far, and… I remembered a look in his eye. A cousin of fear. The carcass was mangled. Butchered, as the men said in their boisterous, rowdy voices. The Butcher, they’d call me. Teasin’. Jestin’. 

 

Not knowing how those words felt like a warm cloak, draped over me shoulders. I was the Butcher. 

 

(Everything quiets. Distant footsteps.) 

 

DOLLMAKER: Ah! How wonderful. (Arthur’s noises of exertion.) You’ve got him, you found his head. 

 

JOHN: We didn’t find it. We killed him and removed it.

 

DOLLMAKER: All the same, wonderful! Truly wonderful. Here. Let me have it. 

 

JOHN: The Dollmaker is taking it away from us, i-it…

 

DOLLMAKER: Oh, allow me! (Sounds of rummaging.) I’m placing it in a jar. (Liquid pouring. An eerie hum.) A large, glass vessel filled with a strange, violet liquid. It’s called ‘Weavewater’... and placing it on the shelf behind me. (A glass clink.)

 

JOHN: Yes. Thank you.

 

DOLLMAKER: Of course. It must be tiring, narrating all you see.

 

ARTHUR: Look, Dollmaker, it’s done. I did what you asked, and –

 

DOLLMAKER: Of course you did. No need for lack of pleasantries. I recognize killing is not your preferred method of acquiring, but… please. Have some decorum, still. We want to remain friendly, no?

 

ARTHUR (sighing): Sorry.

 

DOLLMAKER: Apology accepted. (Footsteps.) Now! Would you like to see your new body? Well. Have it described to you? (They giggle.)

 

ARTHUR: Please. 

 

DOLLMAKER: Just this way. (Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: The Dollmaker leads us into the backroom. There’s a large, wooden table here. A body on top, draped in a red sheet. 

 

DOLLMAKER: There’s reason for some pomp, surely. This will be the last body you’ll ever need. 

 

ARTHUR: Is that so?

 

DOLLMAKER: Most certainly. Oh! I meant to ask. Why do you need this? 

 

ARTHUR: Why? I…

 

DOLLMAKER: Yes.

 

JOHN: We… well. 

 

DOLLMAKER: Yes?

 

ARTHUR: We’re going to leave... the Dark World.

 

DOLLMAKER (pleased): Perfect. That’s what I thought. I just wanted to ensure I had attached the right… pieces for your needs. 

 

ARTHUR: The right… pieces? What does that mean?

 

DOLLMAKER: This body is made for travel. I have added certain… characteristics that will make your journey more… feasible. I am sure you found a way to avoid the Hollow.

 

JOHN: The Hollow? Yes. T-The in-between realm.

 

ARTHUR: Right, yes, Yorick told us about that place. That quiet veil.

 

DOLLMAKER: Few have traveled there, even fewer walk the realm itself. This body is not intended to go there.

 

ARTHUR: You know about the Hollow?

 

DOLLMAKER: Of course. You don’t exist here for as long as I have without knowing what lay beyond. 

 

ARTHUR: What is it, exactly?

 

DOLLMAKER: Simply put? A place where nothing ever happens. 

 

JOHN: What does that mean?

 

DOLLMAKER: A metaphorical ocean, vast and unending, that surrounds the Dark World. It is a looking glass realm, one where you are more prisoner than in prison. I don’t recommend it.

 

ARTHUR: Understood. Well, we won’t be heading there. In fact, both of us are heading back to… our world.

 

DOLLMAKER: Both of you? You have a body as well?

 

JOHN: I do.

 

DOLLMAKER (excited): Splendid, wonderful.

 

ARTHUR: Yes. My body in our world was destroyed… completely, so.

 

DOLLMAKER: Of course. This is your… only way back, I understand.

 

ARTHUR: Which is why I’m happy our business is concluded. Because apparently, without this body… this method would leave me… properly gone. No Dark World and no real world. No Hollow, just… 

 

DOLLMAKER: An end. 

 

ARTHUR: Yes. 

 

DOLLMAKER: Understood. Although, it is strange. I do not know a way to leave this place in the way your chum has promised. But if your friend says it’s possible… I wish you all the best. Now! Your body. (They grunt in exertion. Fabric shifting.)

 

JOHN (in awe): It’s… Arthur, it’s… you. (‘Faroe’s Song’ begins.)

 

DOLLMAKER: Down to… almost… the last detail. 

 

JOHN: The body laying on the slab looks identical to you. Your hair… matted and unkempt, y-your nose… your ear, where Uncle tore a piece off, it…

 

DOLLMAKER (sympathetically): Family can be difficult. (John exhales.)

 

JOHN: Arthur, it’s… perfect. 

 

DOLLMAKER: As promised. 

 

ARTHUR: As promised. So our transaction is concluded?

 

DOLLMAKER: Of course. Save… putting you in.

 

ARTHUR: Putting me?

 

DOLLMAKER: Inside.

 

ARTHUR: I-I…

 

JOHN: Yorick has my body. Don’t we just need to… carry this back, i-it…?

 

DOLLMAKER: He most definitely will need you both in your bodies to leave the realm, no?

 

ARTHUR: I don’t know, I-I… (Footsteps.)

 

DOLLMAKER: Well, the choice is yours. You can enter now and allow me to supervise, ensure the… fit is snug. Or, risk carrying the body back. I will say, once you set foot outside this door… my job is complete. No refunds. No returns. No troubleshooting. Buyer beware. 

 

JOHN (thoughtfully): Huh.

 

ARTHUR: Alright, yeah. I suppose that makes sense, um.

 

JOHN: Yes, I… I agree.

 

ARTHUR: Yes, please, help us into the body.

 

DOLLMAKER: Of course.

 

(An enigmatic melody begins. Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: The Dollmaker walks to the shelves behind the, uh – 

 

DOLLMAKER: Oh, it’s fine, please.

 

JOHN: T-Thank you, ehm. (Glass clinking.) They’re grabbing a bottle of something. Non-descript. A-and walking back toward the body. (An uncorking noise.)

 

DOLLMAKER: A little cocktail to warm up the body. Organs need a bit of a running start before being turned on.

 

ARTHUR (exhaling): How many times have you… done this?

 

DOLLMAKER: Put one into another?

 

JOHN: Yes, relocated… souls.

 

DOLLMAKER (amused): Souls? Quite the metaphysical word.

 

ARTHUR: Is that not apt? I –

 

DOLLMAKER (whatever-you-say): Sure, sure.

 

JOHN: I don’t understand. 

 

DOLLMAKER: It just makes them sound so… intangible.

 

ARTHUR: Isn’t it?

 

DOLLMAKER: My boy, if a soul was intangible, it would be quite hard to relocate. No.

 

ARTHUR: I – (He chuckles nervously.) I don’t know. I suppose –

 

DOLLMAKER: I have, to answer the question. Though two souls into one body is… a new challenge.

 

ARTHUR: Was it?

 

DOLLMAKER: No need to worry. It was one that I happily found a solution to. One body, two lives. You are quite the curiosity, I must say. But one that does not belong to me… yet! (Footsteps. They chuckle.)

 

ARTHUR (quickly): W-What do you mea – ?

 

DOLLMAKER: I jest, chum. This has been so fun, such a marvel, such a triumph! Defeating the Butcher. I can’t wait to see what horror lays within his mind. But, I digress. 

 

(Uncorking noise. Sloshing liquid.)

 

JOHN: The Dollmaker is pouring the liquid down the body’s throat.

 

DOLLMAKER: Time for you to drink up as well. Though not from this bottle. (Footsteps. Glass clinking.)

 

JOHN: The Dollmaker grabs another bottle, with another liquid inside, an… oily substance that stains the glass an orangy hue, leaving copper streaks on the inside. They… (Tapping on wood.) Hand it to us.

 

ARTHUR: Oh… what is this?

 

DOLLMAKER: This one puts your insides to sleep. (Liquid sloshing. A slow melody begins.)

 

ARTHUR: Will this… kill me?

 

DOLLMAKER: Oh gosh, no. I wouldn’t want to poison any of those organs. No, this simply slows them, so your presence is more accustomed to the struggle it will be to reignite the organs in the new body. It’s all very safe.

 

JOHN: It doesn’t sound safe.

 

DOLLMAKER: Believe me, it is. Though I’m not sure how much safety you require.

 

JOHN: What do you mean?

 

DOLLMAKER (admiringly): There are some remarkable things about you. So many wounds survived… so many impossible near misses. (‘Faroe’s Lullaby’ starts to play.) Almost like you’ve had... a guardian angel watching over you.

 

JOHN: You don’t think the Manager was…?

 

ARTHUR (quickly): I don’t, I don’t know.

 

DOLLMAKER (exhaling): Ah, to have a manager, what luck. (Footsteps.) But time moves ever forward. 

 

ARTHUR: Sure.

 

JOHN: I think the Dollmaker means for you to drink.

 

DOLLMAKER: Yes.

 

ARTHUR: Oh! Yes, uh, my apologies. 

 

DOLLMAKER: None taken. Drink it all down now. 

 

ARTHUR: Cheers. (Liquid sloshing. Drinking noises.)

 

DOLLMAKER: Yes, yes, there you go. Every…last…drop. (Arthur exhales.) Wonderful! (Arthur hums.) Now, you may feel a little weaker, a little drowsier, don’t fight it. (Arthur makes noises of mild distress.) Your organs are taking more effort to continue to function. Come, lay down next to your new body. It will take me quite some time to set up the process.

 

JOHN: The slab is just ahead. (DOLLMAKER: There, there.) Careful, careful. (Arthur grunts. Fabric shifting.) Here, here. Yes, it’s okay.

 

(Everything quiets. Eventually, sounds of carving. A fire crackles.)

 

COLLINS: As we rode back to where we had started, the men taunted me with the title of Butcher. My father rode with me. (A string version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ plays.) He told me that we had returned… victorious, that it didn’t matter if the fox was small or the hunt was long. In the end, we had our kill, and that life was ours now. He gave me another drink. Not the parting glass, that was special, that was before we left. That was for our sweet ‘so long’ before the hunt. 

 

No, this… this was a strong drink from my dad’s wineskin… only it wasn’t wine. It was sweeter, smelled like me dad’s breath on a cold winter’s night, when he was raging at me Ma. Like burnt wood and foul meat. He made me drink deeply, made me head all kinds of… dizzy. Filled it with all kinds of thoughts. It made me eyes bleary. It made me lick the copper from me lips where he had blooded me after the kill. Made me taste the metal of the fox’s blood, and… enjoy it. I remember feeling like I was going to be a different boy now. Like when I came home, I’d be different. Changed. A new man.

 

(The fire and music quiets. A sudden music sting. Arthur gasps awake.)

 

JOHN (urgent): Arthur! Can you hear me? Try to stay awake. The Dollmaker, they’re… they’re almost ready.

 

(Rummaging noises.)

 

DOLLMAKER: Mere moments away now. There is an effort on your part, Arthur, this is like a… jump! Like reaching out into the darkness and tugging at the hair strands hanging from some enormous beast. You must feel through the space between and make your way across.

 

JOHN: One big jump, Arthur. You’ve done plenty of those.

 

(Arthur chuckles breathlessly.)

 

ARTHUR: Right, right.

 

JOHN: And this time you’ll get a ‘fuck yeah’ from me. (John chuckles.)

 

ARTHUR: I know, I know, I know…

 

DOLLMAKER: There’s really no need to be nervous now. Any moment, you’ll feel the pull. Simply… let it take you further in.

 

(Arthur hums woozily.)

 

JOHN: Arthur? (More urgently.) Arthur?

 

DOLLMAKER: It’s alright. He’s there now.

 

JOHN: Where? (Footsteps.)

 

DOLLMAKER: Right now, he’s… wandering the plains of his mind. Feeling out through the darkness, and all he need to do is touch it.

 

JOHN (confused): Touch it?

 

DOLLMAKER: Yes. The process is up to the individual. For me, it’s nearly instantaneous. For others, it may take a while.

 

JOHN: For you?

 

DOLLMAKER: Surely you’ve… pieced me together. (They chuckle.)

JOHN (realizing): Oh, right. And, uh. I’ll… m-my soul will –

DOLLMAKER: Follow his lead. Worry not, I am a professional.

JOHN (nervously): Great.

DOLLMAKER: Although, while I have you, I have been meaning to ask.

JOHN: Yes?

DOLLMAKER: Once this is done, what is to become of this body? (A sad melody begins. A high-pitched ringing noise echoes.)

 

JOHN: This body… I, I don’t know, we didn’t d – 

 

DOLLMAKER: You didn’t discuss it.

 

JOHN: No.

DOLLMAKER: Well, I was wondering if I could have it.

 

JOHN: You… what do you wanna do with it?

 

DOLLMAKER: Oh, any manner of things come to mind. This vessel is quite interesting, it would be… fascinating to hold on to.

JOHN (unwilling): I…

DOLLMAKER: Would I… be able to keep it?

JOHN: I-It’s really Arthur’s decision.

DOLLMAKER (goading): Are you not a piece of this body now? Have you not used these hands, these eyes, this one leg?

JOHN: I suppose so.

DOLLMAKER: Your alternatives are carrying it with you, or throwing it off a cliff for some other creature to devour and destroy. I would consider it a great personal favor. 

 

JOHN: Right… um…

DOLLMAKER: What do you say?

 

JOHN: No. No, I don’t think… you should. 

 

DOLLMAKER: You don’t think I should what?

 

JOHN: You… You can’t have it. (A suspenseful sting.)

 

DOLLMAKER: Why not?

 

JOHN (huffing): It’s not mine to give away! And even if it was, it’s… a piece of us, a connection to this – (He stammers.)

 

DOLLMAKER (distorted): It isn’t a piece of you any more than these clothes are a piece of you.

 

JOHN: I understand that, but –

 

DOLLMAKER: But you feel entitled to deny me all the same.

 

JOHN: I-It’s not about you, I-I would deny anyone! I’d –

 

DOLLMAKER (distorted): Deny anyone? (Normally.) For what reason?

 

JOHN: I… (He stammers.)

 

DOLLMAKER: Such… possessiveness. Very well. I will respect your wishes. 

 

JOHN: Thank you. And I’m sorry to –

 

DOLLMAKER (distorted): Do not thank me. (Normally.) For when you leave this world, when this body sits unoccupied, rotting in the dirt where you left it… I will take it all the same. Only without your blessing. 

 

JOHN (apprehensive): You… fair enough.

 

DOLLMAKER: This’ll be over soon enough. And you and your friend can leave… and never return. (Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: Dollmaker. Listen, I’m not… I-I think I misspoke. I-I mean to –

 

DOLLMAKER: Quiet. (Unintelligible muttering from Arthur.) He is… muttering something. 

 

JOHN: Is that supposed to happen?

 

DOLLMAKER (flatly): No. 

 

JOHN: What was it he said?

 

DOLLMAKER: I’m not sure. (Leather stretching. Arthur muttering.) What is… ‘my favorite’?

 

JOHN: What is… (Rising whispers.) Oh no. (An otherworldly whoosh. John groans in pain. Objects clatter. Arthur pants heavily.) Jesus!

 

DOLLMAKER: What?

 

JOHN: Arthur!

 

ARTHUR (just-woken-up): What?

 

JOHN: Arthur!

 

DOLLMAKER: What have you done?

 

JOHN: Arthur. (Objects continue to fall and clatter.) Something happened.

 

DOLLMAKER: My workshop!

 

JOHN: Something… 

 

DOLLMAKER: It’s ruined.

 

ARTHUR: Where are we? 

 

JOHN: We’re still in our old body.

 

DOLLMAKER: My carnal blade…

 

JOHN: There was an explosion, a-and…

 

DOLLMAKER: The Orating Salientia…

 

JOHN: The Dollmaker is… their workshop is destroyed!

 

DOLLMAKER: Shattered my darkened nephrite… it’s shattered…

 

JOHN: Shelves have fallen over in the blast, a-and…

 

DOLLMAKER: It’s broken.

 

JOHN: Arthur, what the hell happened?

 

ARTHUR: I don’t know! I don’t know…

 

JOHN: The Dollmaker is looking over the contraption that was… laying over you and the new body. Reading a dial of s –

 

DOLLMAKER: You.

 

JOHN: The Dollmaker! (Footsteps.)

 

DOLLMAKER (growing anger): Turns to you, irate, annoyed, livid… displeased… furious… seething, fuming! Foaming at the mouth. 

 

JOHN (scared): A-Arthur… t-the… 

 

DOLLMAKER: No, please. (Leather stretching.) Go on.

 

JOHN: The Dollmaker looms over us. (More fearful.) Their impressive figure seems to… shift… to a more menacing, more… violent…

 

DOLLMAKER: Stature?

 

JOHN: Yes. 

 

DOLLMAKER: I warned you what would happen if you were a danger to me or my workshop. 

 

ARTHUR (begging): Please, please! I-I didn’t know!

 

DOLLMAKER: Know? You hide your arm from me!

 

JOHN: The Dollmaker reaches out and… (Fabric tearing. The Dollmaker growls.) Rips your sleeve! And… reveals the white scar.

 

ARTHUR: I… I didn’t know! I didn’t know!

 

DOLLMAKER: You didn’t know you carry a third soul!?

 

JOHN: A third? I…

 

ARTHUR: No no no, y-you must believe me! I…

 

JOHN: We didn’t…

 

DOLLMAKER: Get out of my home!

 

ARTHUR: But my body! I – 

 

DOLLMAKER (roaring): My body! To do with what I see fit.

 

JOHN: Please, Dollmaker! You have to believe us.

 

DOLLMAKER: You are selfish, secretive, and dangerous! I am only letting you leave, seeing as you brought me the Butcher’s head. Otherwise, you would be spending an eternity in agony, as I promised. (Footsteps.) Be thankful I am kind… unlike that voice in your head.

 

ARTHUR (breathless): You know… You know we can’t leave this place… without that body! Please. Please. 

 

JOHN: Please. 

 

DOLLMAKER (gentler): You are… correct. (Footsteps. A light melody begins.)

 

JOHN: The Dollmaker steps back. The anger… dissipating from their face. A calmer, cooler look washes over them. 

 

DOLLMAKER (sighing): You are right. 

 

JOHN: They step back to the body, still laying on the slab. 

 

DOLLMAKER: It is my body. 

 

ARTHUR: Yes. Yes. (Metal scraping.)

 

DOLLMAKER: And I can do with it what I see fit. (An impact. Sounds of blood and gore.)

 

ARTHUR: No!

 

JOHN: Arthur, they’ve… (He sighs.) They’ve severed the head of the body.

 

ARTHUR: No.

 

JOHN: It’s… It’s… (Arthur gasps.) Oh, God. 

 

ARTHUR: No. 

 

DOLLMAKER: Now leave this place.

 

ARTHUR: No. 

 

DOLLMAKER: Before my hospitality wears off. 

 

(Footsteps. Everything quiets. Eventually, sounds of whittling and a crackling fire.)

 

COLLINS: When I returned home… Da let me off the horse and gave me the parting glass. My little lamb. Told me to head inside, that he and the boys would have a drink to celebrate… and would go clean the fox. They told me I was a good lad that day. A good follower. Just like the hounds. (A piano version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ begins.) When I entered… the blood still on me face… me Ma had seen the lines my tears drew and… she grabbed me by the shoulder and warned me… not to cry. I didn’t even know I had been. I stood there, once she left. The parting glass in me hand. Its tiny lamb head staring up at me. 

 

And I realized… it wasn’t for us. For me. That morning. We didn’t toast to our hunt, not really. We had that drink for the fox. It was he we was toasting that morning. For he was the one who gave his life. That’s what the parting glass is. A toast. For the ones who don’t realize what everyone else has… that they’re already dead.

 

(The fire quiets.)

 

JOHN (muffled, growing clearer): I don’t know how long Kayne will wait, but time moves differently here, right? So we just… play the game. We lean into that and we have… you know, we convince the Dollmaker to make you another one. We have the time. Right? (Directly.) Arthur. 

 

(Footsteps.)

 

ARTHUR (distracted): Yeah. Yeah?

 

JOHN: Are you listening?

 

ARTHUR: Yes. Sorry. 

 

JOHN: Are you okay? Y-You seem…

 

ARTHUR: Just… tired, still. Shaking off that, ehm… cocktail. 

 

JOHN: Right. Well, focus. We still have a big job to do. And once Yorick finds out about your body, we’ll… need to offer solutions.

 

ARTHUR: Right. Yeah.

 

JOHN (gently): Hey. Hey, hey. Don’t give up on me. 

 

ARTHUR: I’m not. I promise. 

 

JOHN: Good. (Arthur exhales.) I still need you to do this. We’re almost at the top of the chain again. Back on Yorick, w-we’ll need to –

 

YORICK (from a distance, approaching): Master!

 

ARTHUR: Yorick! You spent no time waiting.

 

YORICK: Of course not. Where is your body?

 

JOHN: Listen, Yorick. About that.

 

ARTHUR: Yes, about that. We, um… we failed to get a body from the Dollmaker.

 

YORICK: Failed?

 

ARTHUR: Yeah.

 

JOHN: Yes. We don’t have one for Arthur. W – 

 

YORICK: Master, I am sorry, but that is unacceptable. Without a body, you will be… gone. Not a revenant of the Hollow, not a husk in the Dark World. But gone. Removed from existence entirely. You would be unable to stop Kayne, to prevent the waking of Azathoth. To –

JOHN: We know that, Yorick. It’s why we have an idea. A few, in fact, that will still work. (A quick melody begins.) We can lay low for a while, I think we can convince the Dollmaker to speak with us again. If we can re-establish trust –

 

YORICK: You do not understand, John. There is no time. As we speak, there is little to stop Kayne from completing the –

 

JOHN (defensively): There is some time! We don’t need much. We just need –

 

YORICK (loudly): There is no time, John.

 

ARTHUR (quietly): We don’t need a plan.

 

YORICK: I was soon to come retrieve you if you could not –

 

JOHN: Listen, Yorick!

 

ARTHUR (trying to get a word in): We don’t need a plan. We don’t need a plan.

 

JOHN: I’m telling you there are –

 

YORICK: You must listen to me. I have to –

 

JOHN: There’s not –

 

ARTHUR (angry): We don’t need a plan! 

 

JOHN: What?

 

ARTHUR: We don’t need a plan! (He sighs. Calmer.) We don’t need a plan.

 

JOHN: What do you mean?

 

YORICK: Master?

 

ARTHUR: We have all we need.

 

JOHN: No, you don’t. We don’t have a body. We don’t have the means to leave this place, you – (A sad melody begins.)

 

ARTHUR: I know. (A long pause.) But you do. 

 

JOHN (shaken): W… What?

 

ARTHUR: Yorick. Am I correct in assuming that if we leave this place, in the way you’ve described, that I will, uh… die?

 

YORICK: Yes, Master. L –

 

ARTHUR: But, but, but. But if we have John’s body… he can still live. 

 

JOHN: Arthur. 

 

ARTHUR: Am I right? 

 

YORICK (somberly): Yes… Master. 

 

ARTHUR (sighing): Then, my friend… we have all we need to succeed. 

 

YORICK: I will prepare. (Growing more distant.) Meet me where we first met when you are ready.

 

JOHN: Yorick, wait! Wait, come back here, god damn it! (Frustrated.) Arthur, you fucking idiot. What are you talking about, this is insane!

 

ARTHUR: No, it’s not. It… It’s really not.

 

JOHN: Yes, it is. I can’t do this without you. I can’t. (A pause.) I won’t. (A longer pause. Emotionally.) I don’t want to. 

 

ARTHUR: But you have to, my friend. (Amused.) Friend. God. What a pair we are, eh? Waking up on the floor without my sight and this is how we end. (He chuckles breathlessly.) It’s quite the tale. (He sighs.) You know, during your eulogy… I… listened. A lot, maybe… maybe for the first time. I didn’t know you struggled so much with… hating yourself. Hating what you thought you were. Fearing what you could become. I’m sorry for the role I played in that.

 

JOHN (upset): Stop! We can’t do this. This isn’t the way, i-it can’t be.

 

ARTHUR: No. No. It must be, John. You may have my eyes, but I’m the one seeing clearly. You have to finish this for us. 

 

JOHN: I don’t know how!

 

ARTHUR: Well! Neither do I. And I’m sorry you’ll have to go it alone, but.

 

JOHN: No, you’re not. You’re not sorry. You’re fucking so happy to get to do this. At this moment, you’re the hero.

 

ARTHUR (sternly): Don’t.

 

JOHN: You’re the one who gets to put it all on my shoulders and finally… (He scoffs.) Give up on… (He trails off.)

 

ARTHUR: You don’t need to be scared. Neither of us wants this, in this moment. (He huffs.) ‘We die half-finished.’ Truer words. Look, whatever comes, promise me something. You’ll need to embrace those parts of yourself, John, i-if you want to… (He sighs.) I want you to. I do. Both halves. We all have the capacity for good and evil in us, for right and wrong, and we can all do both. Forgiveness, patience, kindness. These aren’t the virtues of the thing you want to be. They’re the virtues of the man you are. 

 

JOHN (tearfully): I’m that way because of you.

 

ARTHUR: No. You’re not. You’re really not. Where’s Yorick? 

 

JOHN: This way. Yes. (Footsteps.) You promised you wouldn’t give up.

 

ARTHUR: I’m not. And you know that.

 

JOHN: I know, but… what happened to keeping the fire alive? Fighting for existence? Invictus, for fuck’s sake!

 

ARTHUR: I’m not doing this to die, John. (Kindly.) I’m doing this so you can live. You know, when I lost my eyesight, for the longest time, I felt like I had lost something. Like something had been… stolen from me. I felt like a piece of me was gone forever. And when you spoke during your eulogy, I realized something. This… thing… you took from me… it doesn’t have to be… stolen. 

 

I… I get to choose how… to view that, and… instead, it… it can be a gift. From me… to you. 

 

JOHN (sadly): Arthur.

 

ARTHUR: A gift is… the truest expression of love. It doesn’t matter whether it’s home-made or bought for a year’s salary. It’s thinking of someone else. It’s telling that person that they matter. And you matter so much. (Shaky exhale.) You never stole my eyes, John. (He sniffs.) I gifted them to you. 

 

YORICK: Master?

 

ARTHUR (surprised): Oh! We’re here. 

 

YORICK: You must enter my mouth. Both you… and the body of Hastur. 

 

JOHN (shaky): Just, just one moment, please. 

 

YORICK: Of course. 

 

JOHN: Arthur, I… I never wanted this from you. I never asked for it.

 

ARTHUR: You didn’t need to.

 

JOHN: I owe you… so much, I… I owe you everything. You taught me… to care for people. For humanity. You taught me that it’s okay to be… frail, to love. To… to be afraid. You’ve taught me… to love poetry. (They both laugh.)

 

ARTHUR: I think… I think some of that is left over from the Waylay, to be fair.

 

JOHN: Not Invictus. That one was yours. 

 

ARTHUR: Ours. Though, I’ve been remembering another since arriving here.

 

JOHN: Another?

 

ARTHUR: And… I suppose the end feels a little apt, now. (Quoting.)

‘Space and dread and the dark – 

Over the livid stretch of sky
Cloud-monsters crawling, like a funeral train
Of huge primeval presences,

Stooping beneath the weight
Of some enormous rudimentary grief;
While in the haunting loneliness,
The far sea waits and wanders with a sound
As of the trailing skirts of Destiny,
Passing unseen
To some unmitigable end
With her gray henchmen, Death.

 

What larve! What spectre is this
Thrilling the wilderness to life.
As with the bodily shape of Fear
What but a desperate sense,
a strong foreboding of those dim
Interminable continents, forlorn
And many-silenced, in a dusk
Inviolable utterly, and dead
As the poor dead it huddles and swarms and styes
In hugger-mugger through eternity?

Life–life–let there be life!
Better a thousand times the roaring hours
When wave and wind,
Like the Arch-Murderer in flight
From the Avenger at its heel
Storm through the desolate vastness
and wild waste places of the world!

Life–give me life until the end,
That the very top of being,
The battle-spirit shouting in my blood,
Out of the reddest hell of the fight
I may be snatched and flung
Into the everlasting lull,
the immortal… incommunicable dream.’

 

(Arthur sniffs and exhales shakily.)

 

JOHN (tearfully): It’s lovely.

 

ARTHUR: Yeah, well. I didn’t write it. (They both chuckle.)

 

YORICK: Master!

 

ARTHUR: Yes. Yes, what more is to be said.

 

JOHN: So much. (A gentle melody begins.) But… I-I… I don’t know where… I’ll miss you, Arthur. 

 

ARTHUR (teasingly): Nah. Only for a bit. (He sighs.) Wish I could hug you. (He chuckles.)

 

JOHN: Well… maybe you can. (An otherworldly howl. John makes noises of exertion.)

 

ARTHUR: What? Are you…? (He chuckles.) Are – Are you projecting? 

 

JOHN: Embracing who I am! (John roars, echoing.)

 

ARTHUR (chuckling): With a vengeance! Come here. 

 

(Sounds of an embrace. Both laugh. An otherworldly zap.)

 

JOHN: I love you. 

 

YORICK: John. Being separate… I have no guarantee where you will end up. And with a chance that part of your fractured soul is still alive, there is no promise I can make to how you will feel. What you will remember. Or what will happen if –

 

JOHN: I’ll remember.

 

YORICK: Very well. 

 

JOHN: I’ll remember everything. 

 

YORICK: Master? Pick up the body. And walk toward the mouth. (Arthur’s noises of exertion.) It will… be over quickly. 

 

ARTHUR: Thank you, Yorick. For everything. 

 

YORICK: Thank you… Master.

 

(Footsteps. Arthur exhales shakily. A continuous, eerie howl.)

 

JOHN: It’s so bright. 

 

ARTHUR (weeping): I can only imagine. Enjoy… Enjoy it. Enjoy it all. 

 

JOHN: I will. I have. (Arthur sobs.)

 

ARTHUR: My friend. 

 

JOHN: I will continue to. 

 

(Everything quiets.)

 

(A sudden gasp. Sounds of shifting.)

 

COLLINS: To the east. One approaching. You get on the gun. (Metal clicking.) Remember: we want them in the woods. We’ll want them alive for now. Don’t get scared, now. Wait for your moment. Take a deep breath… and wait. We’ve got all the time in the world. All the time. That there’s a dead man. He just don’t know it yet.  

 

(END Part 56.)